Michael Manning - The Line of Illeniel

“Did you find anything interesting in there while you were searching for your wit?” Rose replied.

“Just your dignity,” I shot back, “but there wasn’t enough left of it to bother with.” I’ll admit it, that remark was a bit mean, but she started it.

Rose grinned at me and was ready to continue our banter but Penny stepped in, “Let’s go look around the master bedroom before I die of a broken funny bone.”

“Spoilsport,” I said.

We went down the hall to where the bedrooms were located and began poking around. Most of the rooms were quite spacious and despite Penny’s statement earlier there was very little dust to be found. I suspected the house had some means of keeping itself clean. Still I would be glad of the new linens Rose had mentioned. No amount of cleaning could keep sheets fresh that had been on a bed for almost twenty years.

I only spent a short while examining the guest rooms. They were lovely rooms but the furnishings were nothing special. Naturally the master bedroom drew most of my attention. It held my parents’ things. Entering that room was a strange experience. I knew the last two people to be there were the parents I had never known.

The first thing that grabbed my attention was a large portrait on one wall. The face of a beautiful woman stared back at me. The artist had skillfully captured her expression, a look that held both beauty and mystery. Blond hair stood out against a background of dark green ivy, while her blue eyes drew me in, hinting at intelligence and strong determination.

The picture was unsigned and had no name beneath it so I had no way of knowing for sure who the painting represented, but my heart knew. It was my mother. Unbidden tears came to my eyes as emotions I had not known I possessed came to the fore. Learning my mother’s fate years before had stunned me, but still I had not felt sorrow. She was a stranger to me and her tale had evoked only the natural pity anyone might feel. Seeing her now filled me with a wistful sadness as I finally felt the loss of a love I had never had a chance to know.

A soft hand on my back told me Penny was there, but she didn’t intrude upon the moment. I looked at the portrait till I could stand it no longer, then I turned and put my arms around her. She held me, without words or questions, till I had regained my composure.

Rose came in then, as I was wiping my face. Her quick eyes took in the painting and I’m sure she must have understood. She was kind enough to avoid the question and instead asked about the room, breaking the awkward silence. “This must have been your parents’ room?” The answer to that was obvious but the question worked.

“I believe so.”

Penny walked over to a large wooden wardrobe, “I wonder if they left any clothes behind.” Pulling the doors open she looked inside. The interior was half empty but a few dresses still hung there alongside a doublet and a robe. I would have expected the items to be moth-eaten but the house apparently did not tolerate vermin any more than it tolerated dust.

“Oh that’s lovely!” Rose remarked, running her fingers down the sleeve of a silken gown. “The style is so traditional.”

“It almost looks as if they were just here. Everything is so well preserved,” Penny added.

I was opening the drawers of the dresser but there were no surprises there. Just the things you’d expect in a nobleman’s house. They had probably taken most of their valuable personal effects with them when they went on their trip. A variety of clothes, socks and undergarments were all that remained. An expensive jewelry box sat on top of the dresser but I saved it for last.

Opening it I was startled at how much it contained. Brooches, necklaces, earrings, bracelets and more sparkled where they nestled in velvet. It looked as though they had left most of their jewelry behind. I had no idea what any of it was worth.

Rose and Penny were both looking over my shoulder. “Do you see that?” Rose pointed at one of the rings.

“Is that what I think it is?” Penny replied.

They were examining a gold ring with a flat engraved top. It showed a dragon with its wings unfurled and circled by seven stars, the signet ring of Illeniel. “Why is it here?” I asked. I had always assumed that Tyndal had been wearing the ring when he destroyed half of Castle Cameron. “Shouldn’t it have been with him when he died?” I already wore the signet ring of the Camerons. The old Count had been far enough away from the fire and heat when he died that it had survived and James Lancaster had saved it for me.

“As old as the line of Illeniel is there might have been more than one made,” Rose answered. “Either that or he left it here for some reason, but that would be unusual.” We discussed it for a while but no better ideas came to us. I tried to put the ring on but it was too tight so I put it on a chain around my neck instead. I would have it re-sized later.

We finished searching the room but didn’t find anything else of note. Having determined that the bedrooms were safe I left the girls to making arrangements for the evening and went back to the library. I started to pick up ‘The History of Illeniel’ again but I noticed a writing desk off to one side. I crossed over to look at it.

The top bore a dried out inkwell and several pens but the drawers of the desk held a collection of letters and other documents. I sifted through them, curious, but most of them were what you would expect. Messages from the king, calling for Tyndal’s presence in court were the most numerous, along with notices from a shipping company regarding some business concerns. Wait, what?

I looked over the letters from the shipping company; Trigard Exporters was the name of the business. Most of them detailed deposits at the royal bank here in Lothion. It appeared my father held a large portion of the rights to the business. That of course led to several other questions… if he had an account at the bank how much was in it? Did the company still exist? Who took control of his shares after he died?

The longer I was in Albamarl the more unfinished business I found that needed attending to. I would have to make a trip to the bank before I left. I grew tired of sifting through the correspondence and business papers but before I shut the desk a letter caught my eye. What I had hoped to find in the desk were personal letters but naturally anything my father had written was in the hands of whomever he had sent it to. This letter had the look of a personal letter written to him. What made it stand out was the fact that the outer seal looked like it bore the imprint of the royal arms of Gododdin.

I unfolded it, curious who would have sent my father a letter from that unfortunate country. As far as I knew the royal family there was executed about six years before I was born.

My Dear Friend,

I trust this letter finds you well. I wish I could say the same about things here. The Children of Mal’goroth have not been so foolish to disrupt trade yet, so our mutual concerns here are still doing well.

Vendraccus grows bolder by the day and I fear he has agents even within my home. It is impossible to be sure and paranoia and suspicion are now the rule rather than the exception. Thus far he has done little more than harass and antagonize the church of Celior, but numerous murders and back alley brawls hint that he is not content with civilized debate.

Of more immediate concern, I have sad news to deliver. Your friend George Prathion was murdered and the evidence indicates that Nathan Balabas was most likely responsible. Unfortunately we are unable to find him for questioning, but what would you expect when a wizard commits murder? I doubt we could hold him even if we found him.

As I’m sure you know… George was one of the most outspoken detractors of Vendraccus and the Children. I now suspect that Nathan may have thrown his lot in with the cultists since he had no personal issues with George that I am aware of. That bodes ill for all of us as I’m sure you know how badly Vendraccus would love to have a wizard on his side, even if he isn’t one of the old lines.